Love in Cursive
by lumos maximum
Summary: /"This is the best thing I've ever written. . . It's about you."/ Scorpius is a writer who struggles with his writing. Rose is a journalist who forgot the magic in writing and life. A long one-shot about authors, books and love.


**SWEDISHA/N: **23 snapshots, more or less, of Scorpius and Rose. Written partly for the Forbidden Love Challenge at HPFFC. **This has not been BETA'd**, and I really did my best reading through it **so** feel free to point errors out, and lastly, **enjoy.**

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**Love In _Cursive_**  
By: Lumos Maximum

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_For us who write. For us who read. For us who love.  
For us who breath. _

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The first time Scorpius Malfoy ever heard from something by the name Weasley he was too young to remember. The only thing worth reminiscing about was that Weasleys were no good for nothing. That's why he spent his years in Hogwarts avoiding any kind of friendly contact with any of those. The Potters were okay, although he heard more about those than the Weasleys, and he had managed to befriend Albus Potter quite successfully but besides that it had been enough with the befriending _anyone_ part.

That's why that one day; a clouded August, when he was out to buy a new quill that one of the redheaded and freckled ones surprised him in two ways. The first in being nothing as he remembered the redheads and the second way by making a whole shelf of books fall down on him with only one accidently placed flick of her wand.

"Sorry!" her voice said from somewhere above the books on top of him and a Wingardium Leviosa later he saw who the voice belonged to. It was Rose Weasley, known for her klutziness and surname, two things he avoided to come near.

"It's okay," he insisted, remembering her kindness towards him. Kindness in terms of not mocking him as the other Weasleys did and politely agreeing to him switching potions partners whenever they were paired up.

"Oh, hello, Scorpius," Rose said and presented her hand to him to help him up. "You don't look okay."

"I'm okay, I'm fine," he insisted once she had pulled him up. He could have sworn that something broke inside of him. The pain rushing through him was blazing.

"Oh, not many can say that they survived an Aragen McGolm shelf falling on them," she added with brows furrowed in what he sensed as anger but on her lips was a small smile that didn't quite fit.

He groaned. Aragen McGolm, the author of instant classics as _Dawn Dreams, Passionate Summer _and_ Fleeing Moments _was his archenemy. Scorpius was a writer but not good enough according to himself because the only contribution to literature was his first book _Bedtimes Stories_ that barely made him money. Unknowingly Aragen McGolm was the sole purpose that Scorpius rarely shared any of his work. The French-American author whipped something up in a second that was passionate and raw while he struggled with the emotions in his own work.

"He always has to have a silly picture of himself on the front cover, despite covering himself up!" he retorted and stared at the cover of the book where a photo of a fully covered wizard under the headline _Dawn Dreams_ was taunting him. "And he overuses cursive," he added for good measure."Why would anyone write anything in cursive to begin with?"

"I know, he overuses pretty much everything as far as I know," Rose shrugged. "And things look much more powerful in cursive, don't you think?"

He only thought cursive was a silly excuse to highlight unnecessary things and he decided that he wouldn't give his literature nemesis a chance. There was no chance that he would reconsider Aragen McGolm, or his reading choices.

"Right," he said without bothering to reply to that. "I better carry on," he added and carried on with his chores without saying goodbye properly.

Later that afternoon it showed that Scorpius never bought a quill and that Aragen McGolm's bookshelf broke his collarbone severely. A night of foul recovery potions and a morning with a bitter aftertaste did not make him feel better towards his arch enemy, or Rose Weasley.

**:**

**…::23::…**

**:**

Writing had never been a chore. It has been a passion and a life commitment for Rose. It's the way that she was told stories since childhood that the power behind a well told or well written tale really sunk in. She could always ask her dad to tell her about a dragon, a hippogriff or even a sphinx and he would always tell her about three heroes who saved the world. The Hero, The Brain and The Klutz were her favorite characters when she was a child but she always had a special fondness for the The Klutz. Her father used to love that, telling her that The Klutz had a special fondness for her too.

It got to a point when she used to write The Klutz letters, poems, stories and diary entries every night. They were stories about things she found magical, like payphones and TV's and they always ended with The Klutz doing something extraordinary with these things. But childhood was fading out, things started to fall in place and the fantasy she started was demolished in History lessons in 1st grade. After a very dramatic summer day before 2nd grade she cursed her father for his lies and the memory of his hurting face would always be a vivid memory.

The writing never ended though, she started seeking out facts to write about and ten years later after that summer day she became main columnist in the Daily Prophet. A feel for facts with a touch of creativity, they said, just what this paper needs. She was firm, consist and investigating when it came to her writing.

That's why she was confused that a week after a quite chilly meeting with Scorpius Malfoy she was still writing about something as abstract as love, war and dawn in incoherent scribbles.

**:**

**…::22::…**

**:**

He was going to research a few things for his upcoming story so he went to the library. The smell of old books that had been used and passed between hands and library cards made him admire the power of the story. They were still being shared.

The local wizard library, where the piles were high and badly lit up by the burning candles, was where he found his solitude most of the times. He chose to wonder between the different shelves, humming to another tune from his mothers hit songs and then he saw her. Rose. She was sitting between the math and history shelves with a tower of books of fact around her. Her hair was messy and red, just like her bloodshed eyes that seemed to have spotted him. It had to be mascara that created that mess of tears and black, he reasoned, and it had to be the book she was reading that caused her to cry.

It was odd to think so, he knew, but there was something angelic with the red headed woman that let her tears dripping onto the pages of a book. He wished that someday it would be his book that caused some feelings to rise but he spotted, between the towers of books that she had covered her table with, that it was one of _those_ unspeakable books.

He could not tear his eyes away from her though, despite having the feeling that when she was staring up from her book her eyes were staring right at her. It didn't matter, not as much as it would've before his collarbone incident, and her crying was a beautifully, tragic, horribly alluring sight. A vision of her on a floral garden with her voice singing along with the blue something started to form in his head and . . .

"Sir, you've been standing still for half an hour now," the librarian said, awaking him from his dreaming state and gave him a weak smile. "What can I help you with?"

"Err, yes," Scorpius said and unwillingly tore his sight of Rose.

He remembered all about his research and what really brought him to the library. He needed books that moved him emotionally and he was certain that he knew what he was looking for; real literature that respected authors had written. It was what he wanted to read but secretly he knew what book it was he needed.

"Well, I never believed I would say this, but do you have a copy of Aragen McGolm's _Dawn Dreams_?"

**:**

**…::21::…**

**:**

_The October book: Passionate Summer  
By: Rose Weasley_

_Passionate Summer written by the hottest writer this decade, Aragen McGolm, has everything the title promised. It has oozing passion from the first page where the main character Giuseppe first meets what the reader think is his true love Angeliq. The set is sunny, warming and plays out on the beaches of France and Italy where the couple travels. The passion – or more correctly, the need of women - of Giuseppe never lets the reader down and the long inner monologues of his lust are a feast for those who enjoy a Veela mans thoughts. After a detailed journey the summer ends and Angeliq becomes dumped for Giuseppe's truest love that is, and always has been, Elenora. The ladder a slut who shagged the brains out of Giuseppe's best friend without him knowing it. _

Rose watched the draft she wrote for the morning issue of _The Daily Prophet_. The last sentence had been filled with spoilers perhaps but on the contrary it was not written in _Passionate Summer_ so she didn't spoil _that_ book. She just spoiled the true love between Giuseppe and Elenora and the powerful thing it was claimed to be.

Deciding it was too harsh she edited the last two lines with: _The passion Giuseppe feels towards Elenora, his long time love, is too consuming for Giuseppe and when the summer ends Angeliq is left on the beaches of Italy with a broken heart. For the fans of Aragen McGolm however, the tale of Giuseppe and Elenora will continue in his latest book Fleeing Moments._

After that she broke into tears because the tragedy of Angeliq was very moving.

**:**

**…::20::…**

**:**

The last line in _Dawn Dreams_ made himself hate Aragen McGolm with a passion. _He would always carry the memory of her ebony hair in the dawn light with him in his most hidden dreams_it said and it was awful. He hated himself more though, deciding that an author needs to put words on paper that actually mean something to be something. It pained him to not write but even more to write without reason.

It was not before the morning hours closed up without him getting some sleep that he sat up in his bed with sleepy eyes. He rubbed his eyes habitually and grabbed a quill and some parchment from the desk next to his bed. All he wanted was to write a meaningful story so he wrote the first chapter of it. It started with a lonely boy, meeting an angel who rocked him to sleep every night but that draft was dull and the next piece about the moon was horrid so the threw them both.

Finally it came to him; the tired mind was his muse so he wrote about something he never knew he thought. He wrote about a meaningless mans search for passion and love, realizing with every word that small fractions of him was getting attached to every word he wrote. Peacefully he fell asleep in the light of dawn with his head in his ink and the last words of his first written chapter smudged all over his left hand.

_Blue butterflies in her garden._

**:**

**…::19::…**

**:**

"Al," she mused outside Albus hallway.

"Uhm," Albus replied from inside his apartment. "Just a minute."

It was Friday so she had bought wine, cheese, takeout for both of them and those little candy dragons that she hated but Albus was so fond of. It would be one of those Fridays when they would laugh at old memories, create some new and perhaps go out and take over the city. Easy to say that a Friday with her favorite cousin was pretty amazing.

"Rose, hi," Albus greeted when he opened the door and glanced at her from behind the mess of hair he had. His shirt was buttoned hastily, his pants were unbuttoned and his eyes were gleaming.

"Oh," she started when she realized what it was that Albus was occupying himself with on Friday nights. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that. . . I thought that you would be alone, that's all."

"I am, or, well - Rose. . .You can come in, anyways." Albus said and she spotted the pity in his greens.

"It's okay," she said shortly. "I have an article to write, anyways."

"Are you sure?" Albus insisted and gave her a look that was purely saying 'You're alone, aren't you?'.

Rose tried to smile. "I was not keen on sharing my candy dragons with you anyways."

"Really?" Albus said and gave her a lopsided smile to fit that look, "I thought you hated those."

"Well I like them now," she snapped. "And I am not alone so spare me that look."

After having to insist that she had converted to eating candy dragons for real Albus closed the door. With a frown she heard a girl laugh a hysteric laugh and envied her for enjoying Al's company tonight or any company at all.

**:**

**…::18::…**

**:**

The backyard of the mansion where he used to run around naked in as a child was now the location for the gazebo where sophisticated brunches were held. His singing mum, the before-Malfoy famous Astoria, had kissed him multiplied times when he entered that gazebo a bit earlier that afternoon and he felt like a child again. It was not before the dry hello from his father, Draco Malfoy, made him twist with fear in his seat and realize that he wasn't anymore.

"How is life, dear?" his mother asked, her voice clinging. "Do you need any more money?"

"No, I'm fine thanks, mum," he replied and glanced shortly at his father that looked indifferent.

"And love? Any girls that you are swooning, dear?" his mother asked while they all sipped the tea in their cups in a ceremonial way.

"No, mum," He replied almost methodically.

"What are you up to then?" his mother added and gave him a weak smile. His father poured up a glass of Firewhiskey at this question and started to drink it slowly.

"Living," he said while struggling to keep his voice steady. He was living, although he doubted that cooked noodles and depressive nights could be called living by any standards.

"How are your. . . stories going?" his father asked dryly only to specify his mums question.

A brutal silence followed in the chilly late November air. The intense gaze of his father broke his own façade of accomplishment - something as writing a chapter a month ago could never be counted as something successful. "Not good," he replied honestly, because by the standards he was supposed to have that was far from good.

Contently his father sipped the remains of his whiskey.

**:**

**…::17::…**

**:**

She met Scorpius in a very awkward place. She took a second to take in the sight of the a-little-too-drunk Scorpius who had unwillingly loosened up his tie, rolled up his sleeves and sloppily been seated at the bar chair. In a rhythm she watched him tap the bar table and swoop the muggle beers up. Without realizing that she had been standing and watching the performance held by Scorpius for a small infinity she exhaled loudly, only to catch her breath again to keep watching him. Scorpius, however, heard her and turned to face her with traces of amusement on his face that made the performance she watched somewhat better.

"What are you doing in an empty Mug – ehm, sports bar?" Scorpius asked her.

She could ask him the same, so she did. "The question is what are you doing here?"

"I guessed that it would be the last place somebody sane would go," Scorpius replied and looked surprised by his own reply.

"I thought the other way," she said and looked at him, thinking that his company was at least something. "I expected to find people. In plural."

"You should try at what they call game nights then, it's more likely to be packed," Scorpius said and looked around at the empty chairs where literally nobody sat.

"So you come here on these game nights?" she said and gave him a skeptical look before sitting down next to him. The blonde boy with the fancy dress robes, sitting in a bar, chanting cheers and enjoying it sounded too odd to be true.

"No," he replied coolly and took a small sip from the glass he was holding. "Like I said, I come here because it would be the last place somebody sane would go."

"Well, you're here," she pointed out. "That means that you're not sane."

Scorpius gave her a tipsy look before stretching over her to reach for a napkin. When his fingers accidently brushed her wrist she felt less alone. His fingers were sweaty and when they grabbed the portable quill with such care and scribbled down some hasty words she felt that they shared something. Sloppily Scorpius handed her the napkin and she read it as hastily as he wrote it, agreeing to every word written down.

_Nobody who writes is sane._

**:**

**…::16::…**

**:**

The annual winter writer's convention was dull. There was everything from pointed quills seminars, one-minute-questions with the authors of the leading books, book signing requests and those tasty cookies on every authors table. Scorpius was used to that the only reason that anybody really bothered to seek out his cubical where he told his nonexistent fans about _Bedtime Stories_, a book he wrote during his Hogwarts days or with other words – dusty ages ago, were those cookies. Therefore he wrote a sign where it said "one cookie per person" and underlined it sharply to make his point come across more clearly.

The hours went by slowly while he turned in his seat and glanced at where Aragen McGolm sat, always in large shades, a hat and a scarf to hide his face. His cubical was packed with the so called fan girls that were gasping and sighing at every line from _Dawn Dreams_. Right during his favorite part, the part he will never admit to gone teary at, a hard fist hit his table.

Startled by the sound he glanced up and met the eyes of Rose Weasley. She had snowflakes in her auburn red hair, rosy red cheeks and a press badge dangling over her brown coat that sheltered her from the December storm. There was something in her eyes too, much similar to his own tears when reading Dawn Dreams, that made her browns glister and look sad.

"Hi, I'm Scorpius Malfoy, the author of Bedtime Stories," he started as expected of from an author at an author table.

Rose did not reply but grabbed a cookie and finished it in silence.

"Why do you write?" Rose finally asked and gave him the questioning look of the journalist. He felt exposed under her intense gaze and would not be surprised if he splurged out a secret to her. He decided that remaining quiet was the most reasonable reply.

"Well, why do you write?" Rose demanded. "Are you like McGolm who write so that he can secretly snog all his fans between signings and publish parties or is it simply because you want fame and glory like the rest?" she asked and lifted one of his copies of _Bedtime Stories_ up from the desk to examine it.

"No," he said and stole the book out of her grip and carefully placed it among the other copies. He was quite fond of those non-selling copies because even if nobody wanted to read them, they were still his stories.

"Why Bedtime Stories?" Rose demanded now and her arms were crossed in a way that made him fear to tell a lie.

"Because my father never told me any," he blurred out.

After a small silence Rose gave him a look of pity and reached out to take another cookie despite the policy sign.

**:**

**...::15::…**

**:**

"Hand me the potatoes, Hugo," she demanded and watched her brother fill his plate with four before handing her the bowl. One lonely potato was left for her to eat with her huge steak.

Her father had smiled. "That's good, Hugo. Eating like a man."

"You mean like four men," her mother had joked and looked fondly at the pig who was Hugo at the dinner table. "Like your dad."

"Merlin, Hermione, I wasn't that bad," her father said and patted Hugo on the shoulder.

"Uncle Harry said you were worse," Hugo replied and the three of them broke into a unanimous laughter.

She tried to laugh, she really did, but it was not funny that both her dad and her brother were slobs at the dinner table who could not spare food for the rest, despite that the cooked food was a double recipe.

She was in her childhood home, where Hugo and she had been brought up in the shade of Ron and Hermione Weasley née Granger. During her childhood she had waited for the moment that Hugo would stop being the favorite but Hugo was even in this grown up state the cute, warm and loveable one, and she was the addition. It never hit her this hard these times, the jealousy and the need of being noticed but she was feeling lonely these days and Hugo, that prick, was getting all the potatoes and love.

"I met a boy and I kind of like him," she announced, not knowing here that came from. "His name is Scorpius Malfoy, Dad, you might know him?"

The silence that followed was not what she had expected. It was a stiff, uncomfortable silence, until a chair scraped against the floor and the footsteps of her crying mother running up the stairs echoed in the hallway.

"I'll get that," Hugo said and gave her the look of guilt before he left for the stairs. Hugo never blamed her, how foul and rude she ever could be sometimes because she knew that Hugo understood that it was nothing more than a cry for a listening ear.

"Rose," her father started. "That upset your mother – ,"

"Please, don't," she stopped because despite of this non-existing relationship being a lie she didn't want to hear her father tell her about how foolish it was.

"No, listen, your mother is not upset because you found a Malfoy," her father said, ignoring her plea. "I am though. It's just that sometimes at night she wakes up, still crying about what happened."

"The unspeakable thing at the manor?" she asked, knowing very well what the name Malfoy meant in their home. It was a blacklisted name and it would remain like that long after all of their deaths if her parents' generation of Weasleys and the Malloy's got their way.

"No," her father replied, although he looked like he was slowly realizing the reason of his wife's sudden tears. "She cries at night because she doesn't want her daughter to. . . ehm, have her heart broken again."

**:**

**…::14::…**

**:**

The main street of Diagony Alley before Christmas was clogged with passengers that rushed in and out from different shops. In his haste, squeezing himself through, Scorpius could almost have missed Rose Weasleys shrieking at Amor McLaggen, an annoying ex Rawenclaw that was a family friend. The shattering of glass against stone was however hard to miss and the diversion it created from his everyday gray was welcomed. He spotted Roses back head, roaring about how stuck up snobs ruining the peace of Diagony Alley were of no acceptance. He could not help but smile contently at the angry face of McLaggen who retorted with war heroes spoiled child's arrogance and turned around, heading to Gringotts where he was the man of order.

After McLaggens exit he watched Rose whip her wand hastily in a combination of a lot of charms and soon enough all of her bags were in order and levitated a few inches from the ground. He watched her auburn red hair bounce in a pattern of bounce, bounce, flow when she walked away until she stopped mid-track.

She turned her head around, met his eyes and mimicked the words 'Hello' followed by a sentence that ended with her trying to smile behind her upset eyes.

His heart stopped for a second and to check if his heart was still beating he drew his hand up towards it. He could not feel a thing behind his ribs because everything paused but the moment when she stared at him still didn't feel long enough. She had spotted him, long before he had seen her, probably following his every movement, and he knew by her notching him that she had been aware that he had been watching her yell. What he knew before her thought was that he was intrigued by her, in a way that he could not explain.

When her forged smile faded out he tried to make it reappear somehow and also reply to her 'hello'. Although his lips were tugging to break into a smile it felt corky so he lifted his hand and tried a small wave but it was not enough so he waved more openly and as a result of his hand gestures his collection of Quizzers Hundred Quickie Quills fell out of his shopping bag. . .

Rose did smile back however, a slightly mocking but sincerely happy smile.

**:**

**…::13::…**

**:**

She had been sure that she would meet Scorpius Malfoy tonight. It was New Years at Al's and naturally she was invited. Scorpius was not a given guest before Al's girlfriend, the laughing girl, had proved to be Slytherins Jovanna Zabini. They were practically siblings, she knew, and Jovanna always knew how to make Scorpius loosen up. So, simply because it was New Year, a new start, she had gone out and bought herself a black, fitted dress and put on some festive makeup to celebrate the occasion. The green ribbon in her hair however was purely unintentional.

After one too many cocktails that Jovanna had forced the whole company of twenty-five she felt empowered and in her empowered state she found him, in cursive, standing on the big and empty balcony, struggling with lightening a cigar.

"So you smoke?" she asked and placed one hand on his to lower the cigar from his mouth. Carefully with the other hand she took the cigar from his grip and bit the end. "The problem is that you didn't bite the end of it," she said and spitted it over the balcony end. Both of them watched it fall down to the ground.

"Yeah, I figured something was wrong – I don't really smoke," Scorpius said with his eyes plastered on her hand, that was still on his right hand. "I don't really do anything. Jovanna gave me this, told me that it's from Cuba," Scorpius said and gave her a hesitating half smile.

She asked him for the lighter, let go of her grip of his hand, returned to lightening the cigar up and drew a few puffs from it when it was finally lit up. The rich taste of tobacco was foul but the eyes of Scorpius observing her technique was something else. His left hand was discreetly placed on his right, probably to preserve the heat she left there, and that small movement made her warmer than inhaling smoke.

"Here you go," she said and handed him the cigar. "I don't think saying its Cuban makes it okay to smoke though."

"No," Scorpius said and smoked the cigar. "But it's unexpected."

"Really unexpected… something else unexpected that you are giving a chance?" she asked, smiling vaguely as she watched him give her a suspicious eye.

"I've given Dawn Dreams a chance since you charmed an England-sized shelf to drop me," Scorpius told her. "It's . . . decent,"

She laughed, clearly remembering their meeting a couple of months ago in the bookstore. She had, smooth as she is, managed to make a shelf fall on him when she was simply trying to destroy the shelf. He hurt himself badly, she knew, and on top of that she tipped him to read the rubbish that the shelf contained simply because he was her natural enemy. The surprising part was that he actually took her advice.

After calming down she said, "Is it?" and felt her lips tug once again. "Never read it, actually."

The face of Scorpius when she revealed that piece of fact was priceless. "So you tell me that you go around telling people to give the guy a chance while you don't bother to read yourself?" Scorpius asked but he looked like he didn't believe her. Fortunately he started to cough so badly that he threw the cigar over the balcony edge.

"I've read one of his books, Passionate Summer, for an article and come on," she said and looked Scorpius in the eye, now unable to keep her laughter in. "Can you seriously tell me that you enjoyed that rubbish?"

"Like I said, it's decent," Scorpius repeated, slightly aggravated of these turn of events. "Why don't you try Aragen out? You know, taking your own advice?"

"I've tried. He's a douche," she said simply and smiled brightly.

When saying this about one of the world's most loved authors to a guy who looked like he'd been slightly converted she felt a new kind of empowerment that she was unaware of having. Next to her she had Scorpius, bewildered by her and probably by the loud counting in the living room where the party was ongoing. It was her night so, at three she placed her hand above his right again, at two the fireworks in front of them went off, telling her that it was a new day, a new year and at one she noticed that Scorpius Malfoy had no interest in watching anything else than her despite that beautiful fireworks was covering the night sky.

**:**

**…::12::…**

**:**

He had nothing written left but the script he wrote one night a long time ago. Ceremonially he had thrown out almost every word he ever written out the window, in trash bins all over his home and a few thick collection of stories in the sparking enchanted fire. Those words were forced words, always had been, and they meant nothing any longer. Finally he had found something real to write about and without any difficulties he wrote the beginning of this newfound truth. It didn't take him long to write it, his first masterpiece, and from the ashes of the shameful stories that caused him to groan more than feel joy over it rose. Proudly he copied down the last line from his saved script and examined his work.

**At the seconds of another year  
**By: Scorpius Malfoy

**_Soft skin, smooth as cotton awoke him  
She, alluring in the haze of smolder_**

**_At the end, she whispers, beginning awaits  
Green, black and red flaring moments_**

**_He wishes only her beauty and closeness  
Like the blue butterflies in her garden_**

It was the start of a small poem, not a clever or witty one but a start never the less. It would not change the world or affect anybody but it was his, to her. And it was beautiful.

**:**

**…::11::…**

**:**

The train that was taking authors and journalists to the writer's banquette was interesting. She had found herself ending up a seat in front of Scorpius and shared some shallow small talk with him. It was not before the train did a nasty stop that made luggage fall to the floor to reveal the content in his carefully packed luggage that the conversation deepened.

"Aragen McGolm?" she asked and did her best to hide her laughter when she grabbed _Dawn Dreams_ from the floor where the book was laying among underwear and shaving products.

"Give that to me," Scorpius demanded, while he did everything to cover his underwear. She would've given it to him if the pink dots that appeared across his face wasn't too much of a trigger for her.

"Oh, _Dawn Dreams_ – do you dream of being a witch that runs off with a Spanish veela boy too?" she pushed while he collected the last pieces of his valuable luggage to the sound of starting train engines. "Oh, I forgot! You Malfoy's are already veela boys," she said ironically.

"There is nothing such as veela boys," Scorpius corrected in vain. She was already too interested in why Scorpius _owned _something written by Aragen McGolm. Ownership of a book is something different than loaning a book, it means you admire the book enough to purchase it with your well owned galleons her mother used to say.

"Excuses," she said and shrugged while he furrowed his brows. "Tell me why you have something by McGolm in your collection."

"Because – " Scorpius started and stopped abruptly. He reached out for the book in her hand and she let him have it. After a while of glancing through the pages he found what he was looking for.

"Because of these lines right here," Scorpius said and started to read. _"The moonlights shimmer illuminated their scars and their sacrifices for these choices. When these were hidden they became nothing more than humans with fingers that clasped each other desperately. 'You hand is warm,' Elenora said. 'It is,' Giuseppe replied. 'I like that,' Elenora said, smiling vaguely. Silently Giuseppe whispered, 'I like your warmth too.' In the nudeness of the moonlight the simplicity of locked fingers, twisted, unfitted and perfectly imperfect was everything that was warmth."_

She heard herself unwillingly gasp. "What next?" she asked, although she wished she could not care less. She might've understood why so many read McGolm's collected work if they all were hearing it like she did. She heard a soft, carrying voice read it with every word pronounced perfectly. Anticipating she waited for Scorpius to follow because his voice, reading in a rhythm, held her hostage.

Scorpius turned the page, raised one eyebrow while scanning through the page and shut the book. "And then they snog themselves stupid," Scorpius said and for once he gave her a sincere, full smile.

**:**

**…::10::…**

**:**

Its silly avoiding the sports bar because one girl might come there, he told himself the first time he re-entered the sports bar after the meeting with Rose. He had been sloppy and a bit tipsy when he met her there and now he had to endure the eternal shame of the drunken man returning home. Never did he tolerate insanity, especially if insanity started in a shitty sports bar.

Sanity, however, would be not returning he reasoned, but he did randomly and one night she came to the bar. It was game night and he found it awkward how somebody could look so alone in the entrance of an overcrowded sports bar. It was a bit sad in his eyes so out of pure nobility he decided to cross the crowded sports bar to reach to her. His thought was to make her less alone, and with that himself less lost.

"Hello," he said when he reached her. Rose's eyes shifted from observing the room to eying him carefully.

"Hi, so we meet again. On game night too," Rose said with a smile playing on her lips. "I guess this means you like me."

He wanted to tell her that she would be looking less alone with his company and that it had nothing to do with anything at all but instead he said, "You're not sane," and he truly meant it.

"Nobody who writes is sane," Rose quoted and out of her pocket she gave him a napkin.

Reading it he noticed that it was the same napkin that he wrote her the first time he entered the bar. He saw his own, sloppy words writing something he normally would not write before it dawned to him what it meant having her keep it. "You saved this. This means that you like me," he said triumphant.

"I guess it does," Rose said and smiled; a smile that he wanted to write a thousand stories about and preserve forever.

**:**

**…::9::…**

**:**

She was a woman of logic, sense and facts. She knew that it was logical that rainy meetings under a light pole that was slowly flickering and fading out into the night were dangerous. Even more dangerous when a forbidden man of the family Malfoy was gently stroking away sticky straws of hair away from her face. It was not sensible to shiver at the touch of his wet fingers against her cold skin but sense was rarely something the possessed when the air from her lungs were slowly leaving in sharp, rapid breaths. Facts however never let her down and it was a fact that it was Scorpius Malfoy who murmured, "I will not kiss you," with a voice that was barely hearable in the sound of raindrops hitting rooftops. It was also a fact that his voice had sounded as needy as she felt. Gently she drew him in with a gentle tug on his tie and murmured, "Yes, you will," before she shut her eyes and felt his warm, nervous breaths against her lips.

After a small infinity in darkness she felt the softness of his lips, the gentle touch of his hands on her face and the shaking, unsteady inhales that matched her own. Scorpius kisses were electrifying and like a thousand jolts throughout her body his kisses spread, warming her up in the icy rain.

**:**

**…::8::…**

**:**

He lay cold in his bed for weeks. He could not sleep, eat or live. The only thing he could do was write a stray of words and sentences that didn't make sense to him. Restlessly he shifted in his bed, thinking of Rose. Contently he let his nights be filled by the thought her, his days be spoiled by daydreaming about her and everything between be spent missing her. It was the missing part that bothered him the most, a night more passionate than a line from the sweetest poetry was what made him miss her the most.

In the rain and cold he remembered her as nothing else than warmth.

It was not before one night, in the middle of March when opening the window meant being hit by a smell of freshly blooming flowers and wet grass that reminded him of her that he got up. The need of _her_ had grown too big so quickly he got dressed, rubbed his eyes and drew a sharp breath before Apparating into nothing.

He knew what he looked for but not where it was so in the endless of spins, swirls and stars that Apparation was he wished that he would find her. The spinning stopped when the swirls and stars formed to a door that was blue, battered and slightly mishandled. It was madness but he knocked, hard, and waited.

Opening the door was Rose. Her hair was sticking out at every direction; she had mascara forming circles around her eyes and marks all over her cheek from her pillow. He admired her eyes that were slowly taking in the sight of him. When she smiled towards him he could not understand how someone could wake up looking so beautiful.

"I found you," he said to her and thanked all his stars above.

"Three am in the morning on a Thursday, too," Rose replied and grabbed his hand. Without any more words she took a step back to let him in.

Tenderly he held her in his arms and kissed her exactly like he had been kissing her every day and every night in his most sacred dreams.

**:**

**…::7::…**

**:**

In Scorpius apartment, an oasis of elegance and perfection from the choice of furniture to the coat hanger she stood, furious. Rose Weasley, the klutzy woman with the colorful dress and the messy braid in her hair had been doing the dishes a second ago, but now yelling.

"Everybody has secrets!" she yelled loudly, as her throat slowly tightens because the subject had been her past boyfriends and she had refused to tell him about it.

Next to her stood Scorpius, dressed in proper pants and shirt and had his hands occupied with a frying pan and a sponge, trying to collect himself. But few things upset Scorpius visibly, she learned, apart from literature and the mentioning of his father it was she who upset him.

Scorpius dropped the frying pan onto the sink but in anger he pressed the soap out of the sponge unknowingly. "Rose, I have no secrets! I did not waltz through Hogwarts with my fair share of girls. I did not go to the Yule Ball with the most popular guy in school. You know this, you know that my past girlfriends start with you."

"It's not easy, okay," she roared. "It's not easy to be me! I try hard."

"Easy?" Scorpius said, and he followed it with a hollow laughter. "You don't know much about life if you think it's hard to be you. Have you ever been tied to a Quiddich pole? No, you haven't. Do you know anything about the long list in old Pomfreys room of people who need to talk with someone? No – of course. You're not one of the 'villain's child's'. You're just _too_ perfect, Rose. "

"Well, I'm sorry then, Scorpius Malfoy, I'm so sorry that I grew up without hating the world as much as you do and I am _so_ sorry that my parents were the reason you and me can life without fear. Oh, and I am so sorry that I got to listen to bedtimes stories while you had to make up your own - ," she said ironically but she paused as soon as she heard her own words echo in the kitchen.

Scorpius looked at her like she had driven a pole through his heart.

"I – I shouldn't have," she stuttered and she felt the tears pressing themselves out unwillingly. She hated this with such an intensity that she smashed the three plates she was holding in her hand hard against the dish bench. With one last glance at Scorpius who looked more hollowly than angrily at her she said, "I am so sorry that I even crossed your way."

The silence was fatal.

"I should go," she declared when Scorpius didn't utter a word or even a sound of breathing.

He watched her, and she saw how his eyes glistered with tears too and he grabbed her with his cold, wrinkly hands and held her fixed simply by being near her.

"No. Just, – don't go! Please. What would I do…" he said with a shaky voice. "What would I do without you?"

**:**

**…::6::…**

**:**

He shares his hopes, dreams and home keys with her and he also tries to wait up to be able to taste her slow raspberry Chap Stick tasting kisses. When the night closes up, him still on the sofa, he hears her fumble with his home keys outside his door. Like on cue, despite staying awake to see her, he shuts his eyes and pretends to fall asleep.

He hears her kick off her shoes in that way he hates having his own shoes, all over the place without even considering piling them prettily towards the wall and he hears her coat dropping to the floor.

"Are you sleeping, love?" Rose asks while the sound of her feet comes closer.

He doesn't reply, but his eyes flicker once she's close enough to kiss him, and she might've known.

"Oh, maybe I should tell you a night story," she hums and he doesn't know how but he senses her smile as she speaks. "Once upon a time, when there weren't any wars they were stories about them. This is not one of those, nor is it about love; this is about an elephant soaring across the sky on a motorbike. This is about a giant with tiny shoes and yellow hair or if you want it could be a story about a scary lion without teeth learning to read. This, my child, is your bedtime story. It's about anything you want it to be."

He hears her recite the introduction words in his most cherished work and he hears the desperation in his written words, imagining that those would be his fathers. And he feels her raspberry lips pressing themselves against his temple.

And he feels her.

"You're amazing," she whispers and continued to recite his work flawlessly as his mind feels sleepier. _It's about anything you want it to be _she repeats and as fast as she enlarges the sofa with one whip and presses her tiny body against his he feels complete.

***  
:**

**…::5::…**

**:**

"Rose," she heard Scorpius call from across the library. The otherwise shy and cold man had a white smile across his face and a untamed joy that made his grays glitter in that way that made her sigh inwardly. The librarian gave Scorpius a disliking warning that only seemed to trigger him more.

"Hey you," she whispered and approached him, laughing without really knowing why.

When she crossed the studying people and reached him, he lifted her up, twirled her around and kissed her neck ecstatically.

"You have the softest neck, it feels like silk," Scorpius murmured too loudly and for the second time the Liberian hushed him.

"Oh, quiet you," she demanded but she never wanted him to stop.

"Why are we here?" Scorpius whispered instead. "When we could be somewhere else, you, me and that smooth neck of yours?"

Easily she grabbed his hand and drew him with her between the shelves. "Come on," she said, smiling a teasing smile to him. "I want to show you my secret at last."

They walked until she stopped at the emptiest but largest shelf in the library. He stopped behind her. A few copies of different books by Aragen McGolm laid solemnly left, the rest was loaned.

"Is this a joke?" Scorpius asked, now letting go of her hand and turning towards her with grays that did not glitter anymore.

"I've kissed him, you know," she said, pausing to gain some courage to tell him the rest. "I was engaged to him too, and he's not called Aragen McGolm, you know, he's that prick, Amor McLaggen. It's the same letters. He hides behind those silly costumes and has a silly acronym or mnemonic for those who dare not to write. We broke up while eloping to Italy to get married – or more likely, he broke up to be with. . ."

"Elenora! You're Angeliq," Scorpius interrupted and pondered about this for a moment before he stiffly said. "That explains why you called him a douche."

"Yes," she said and looked pleased. "It means you've read all those books."

Instead of confessing that, Scorpius said, "For research, I hate Aragen McGolm even more now. Amor McLaggen too. I hate him for making you cry. Especially crying while reading literature," he said before he turned to the shelf and threw the few pieces of Aragen McGolm's to the floor.

The echoes of hard books hitting stone floors echoed in the library. Simply because Scorpius wasn't an impulsive man to begin with she was shocked by this sudden display of anger. He yelled to the librarian that came to complain that a library should carefully consider a shell of garbage before letting people loan it. A library should be a source of wisdom and knowledge, he said and he pointed out that the only thing an Aragen McGolm book was good for was to keep a bonfire burning.

"You saw me crying to his book, here in the library," she whispered when she realized what _crying through literature_ meant. Unwilling tears found their way throughout her eyes. The pieces of a man with the blonde halo throughout her tears from that day when she read Passionate Summer were pieces of him.

"I did," Scorpius said before he was forced to leave the library. "And you were my version of angelic."

**:**

**…::4::…**

**:**

He would never take her to dinner, although the May sun was slowly heading down to the appropriate hour and he had all sorts of connections to the finest dining in London. She was too unique for just a dinner and it was too strange to dine with someone who rather eats from a fast food box under a tree where ducks and children come to play. As she was getting ready to head out to places unseen yet he waited in her living room, dressed too properly for whatever awaited.

He heard her hum softly from the shower to a melody his mother used to sing, probably twirling with slippery toes and soap in her hair. It was strange, the simple buzz of Rose. It was something he could not grasp or would not want to either. Never had he felt this kind of buzz by a woman who he dated, nevertheless a woman who he was brought up to avoid but it worked. They worked. They were black and white to the naked eye but he knew better, to him they were different shades of gray. He might be dark gray and she light or perhaps he was the dull gray that you painted on depressing walls while she was the breezy, powerful tone found in art and nature.

It didn't matter to him though because at the end of the day they were both grays from the same palette. It was then he realized that she was him; she was as vital to him as heartbeats and breaths, and it was then he felt it.

_It._

Forced by the ethics of his profession and the matters of his heart he wrote it down on one of her many table napkins and pocketed it, thinking that this was the best thing he had ever written.

When she stepped out of the shower with her hair in a bushy mess of curls and red he saw the best thing on earth approaching him on the sofa, leaving wet footsteps after her.

"You know, I had this thought," he heard her whisper to him softly before she sat on his knee, wetting down his brand new clothes with her legs and hair. "It's strange, really, but your eyes are so gray."

He met her cold, wet nose with his dry one and whispered. "You know, you're gray too. A beautiful and dripping shade of gray."

**:**

**…::3::…**

**:**

"This article is bad," Paul, her editor said and trashed it. "Write me a new one, fast."

It was noon in the office, the sun had been warming up the small cubical she sat in and the sweat had been prickling down from her forehead. She had been most proud of that article, all the focus she had in her was placed on that work and Paul trashing it was not going to be accepted just like that. "Tell me what's bad with it," she demanded.

"Its incoherent, not based on facts, sloppy, misspelled in a few places and there was a piece in that is about love," Paul said and the small veins on his forehead grew into that size that scared her.

"I thought it needed some love," she retorted. "It was too. . . formal."

"It was suppose to be formal, Rose," Paul shouted now, veins still growing. "It's was suppose to be a review of Medicine Potions not the healing of _love_."

Rose stood up, crossed her arms and looked down at the short editor with the anger issues. "You know what, you could need some love, Paul. It sure helped me."

"You're in love? Aren't you! It made you sloppy," Paul snapped. "You're an ignorant child, this is a serious magazine and love, well, love does not have a place in the work office."

She looked at the sun, knowing that somewhere was Scorpius sitting in the sun and taking a cup of coffee and trying to write something for some book. "But it sure has a place in life," she said and grabbed her bag. She Apparated on the spot and the scenery changed to a bench where her man sat with his head buried in a heavy looking book and two cups of steaming hot coffee to his right.

"Hello Rose," Scorpius said without glancing up from the book. "I had a feeling that you would arrive today."

Kissing him on his cheek she said, "Well, you can't tell me you're sitting here the whole day without expecting me to pay a visit."

Scorpius looked up from his book now to meet her eyes. "I know," he said and smiled, "you got yourself kicked out, didn't you?"

"How did you know?" Rose said, trying to sound serious but her voice was filled with amusement.

Scorpius gave her a smile and returned to staring at his book. "You're wonderful like that."

She grinned, that awful, permanent and sticky grin of someone who floated on some kind of cloud and when she sat next to him, fished up her own book from her bag and started to read she could not avoid glancing at him more than at her book.

She just adored watching that same awful, permanent and sticky grin she had across his lips.

**:**

**…::2::…**

**:**

"Father," he started. His hands where sweaty and slippery, his voice weak. In front of him, on the backyard of his childhood home, he had the most intimidating man he knew giving him a stern look. Next to his father stood his mother, kind and understanding.

His father tone was dry. "_What_ are you holding in your hand?"

"My bad," Rose said, although the irony in her voice was hearable. "I'm Rose, Rose Weasley," Rose said and stretched out her right hand, her left hand holding his tightly.

"I can't stand Weasleys," his father hissed without shaking Rose's hand.

Something in him snapped. Without even giving his actions a second thought, an uncharacterized trait, he took a step towards his father and stared him right in the eyes. "DON'T YOU – ,"

"Scorpius, no! You're not the one who fights," Rose said calmly but he could easily see the fury burning in her eyes. She turned to his father, fearless and sharply she said, "Tough luck, because we are going to get married so you'll be stuck with me and our offspring's until your eternity ends!"

There was a pause, a very long and awkward pause.

"We are?" he asked finally as confused as both his parents looked.

"We are." Rose stated as it was obvious but he spotted the surprise in her voice as easily as he spotted the anger in his father's face. "Aren't we?"

Scorpius watched Rose; in that instant he fell for her harder than imaginable and tried to keep himself from declaring his love in corny lines and epic poems about love. "We are," he said instead. "We are going to get married."

He reached for a muggle ink pen that Rose had given him as a gag with his free hand and drew a simple circle around her ring finger with a shaky hand while murmuring, "I, uhm, was not prepared".

When he was done he admired her watching her hand like there were a thousand diamonds gleaming under the June sun. He knew that she knew that she could get any kind of ring from him, he had inherited enough money for the most expensive rings and diamonds there were but still she watched the crooked line with fascination. "It's so simple," she whispered and gave him a feather light kiss on the cheek, "Its perfect."

His father gaped, his mother cried, his everything hugged him; laughing blissfully in his ear and placing random kisses on his head. He held her harder, squeezing her to tightly and wondered if the feeling of the invincibility he felt this moment would be a permanent thing now that Rose had his drawing around her finger.

**:**

**…::1::…**

**:**

In the middle of July, on the beaches of Australia she saw him waiting for her at the end of a floral road. Watching him, under the hot sun, in his finest suit and his most festive dragon skin shoes was a feast for her eyes. The blond hair was turning transparent under the sun, creating a halo around his head. For once he let it be without obsessing about it and she loved the sight of the blond flowing carelessly in the wind.

She chose a simple white sundress for the occasion and in her hand she held a yellow rose. The sand against her bare feet felt warm and soft. The sun burned her neck severely and her nose was red but she felt even more beautiful today than any other day in her life. It was the way he looked at her when she was casually striding towards him. He grabbed her hands when he met her and mimicked 'finally' to her. She could do nothing else than smile towards the sweating Scorpius who were seconds from drawing her in.

"I'm not sure if you can get married without a priest, Rose," Scorpius murmured. "But I do," he said firmly and placed the ring intended for her on his pink finger and his on her thumb hastily. "I can't wait for us to find one. So I just do."

"Scorpius. The vowels and – ," Rose started, chocking on happiness, but silenced when she saw Scorpius occupied himself by through his suit pockets. She saw the nervously in his face, she felt his too big ring almost falling of her thumb and the sound of him saying 'I do' so firmly, without skipping a beat and it made her smile. And laugh. Lastly she saw him clasping something smooth looking in his hand as he laughed with her, a sound that made her as surprised and happy every time.

"This is the best thing I've ever written. . ." Scorpius said, smiling towards her and presented her the smooth looking table napkin. "It's about you."

She glanced at the familiar napkin; it had been her missing one. On it, in italics, written with a precision that amazed her was the most beautiful work written by Scorpius Malfoy. It was words that created poetry and its meaning would be told by her to their children and their children would tell theirs until the saga ended.

"Read it for me," was the only thing she could say. "I want to hear you tell me your story," she said and shut her eyes so she could hear his voice clearer.

She could feel Scorpius smile without looking at him, "Okay," he said and started. He kissed both her eyelids and her nose before he read the only thing written on the napkin. "I love you."

_I love you_ it said.

"I love you too -," she said and felt some tears burn behind her eyelids. They fell as she opened her eyes, only to stare right at him and with that facing the sun. His grays were tearing up and glittered in that way they did in the sunshine.

"I don't just love you, _I love you._ You see, I wrote it's in cursive," Scorpius murmured and closed up on her. It was with lips barely grazing against her forehead that he said, "You told me once that things were more powerful like that, and I love you to my fullest."

"And I do too," Rose said and locked her fingers with his, their misplaced rings gleaming beautifully against their burnt skin. "My husband, Scorpius Malfoy," she murmured before kissing him softly. "I do."

And this was truly love and everything that came with it. It was one of those nighttime stories he never got to listen to, one of those she heard too many of. And she really loved him back, in underlining, fat and capital letters and would _always_ do so in cursive.

**:**

**…::::…**

**:**

**.**

**…**

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**A/N:** If you made it to the end, wow. _It's was written for you. _I adore you. Leave a review.


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